


i was told not to love him

by TheSocialRisksOfAgriculture



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: (between beth/dean), (none of our characters do the abusing), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Unhealthy Relationships, more tags to be added later, this is basically the extreme version of couples tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2020-07-28 21:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20070535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSocialRisksOfAgriculture/pseuds/TheSocialRisksOfAgriculture
Summary: Beth never believed in soulmates. Not because she'd didn't have one, but because she did.A Beth/Rio soulmate au where everything that gets written on the skin of one person shows up on the other. Unfortunately for Beth, Rio has a bad habit of getting tattoos.Note: rating may go up later. Not betaed.





	1. intro

In the beginning, hiding the marks from her husband was easier than she’d thought it would be. It required precautions of course. The anxiety that came with double, no triple, checking that the bathroom door was locked before changing would probably never go away. And there was always going to be that mad scramble for the lights before Dean could peel her clothes off at the end of the night. Shower sex was of course off the table.

Maybe that’s why he’d cheated on her. The need for intimacy with the lights on for once.

She felt stupid for not realizing it sooner. For only feeling relief that he wasn’t trying to convince her to have sex with the lights on. _Just once, Beth. Please? Would it kill you to be seen? _

And all this, just to hide her soulmarks from him.

Beth had decided, when they had first started dating all those years ago, when she first caught sight of the hastily scribbled reminder on the back of his hand, the reminder that hadn’t appeared on her own, that she’d never let him know the truth. After all, Dean himself was markless. A fact with which he held an indefinite grudge against. No matter how much he drew on himself, no one ever wrote back. It only took a few beers and suddenly you were subjected to an anti-soulmate tirade like never before. Hell, if you knew which buttons to press you could get the fully rant sober too.

_Who needs a soulmate anyway? Isn’t choosing who you spend your life with more romantic anyway? _

So when a few months into their relationship he asked if she had a soulmate, she lied. “It doesn’t matter if we’re not soulmates,” she had told him afterwards, “I still love you.” And the worst part, was up until now she had truly believed that.


	2. the first mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the beginning...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I just want to say a big thank you to all yall who left comments and kudos! I really wasn't expecting any sort of reception for this fic. 
> 
> Secondly, sorry for the delay between chapters! I was never serious about turning this into a full fledged fic, but then some ideas came together so I guess I'm writing this thing now?? I'm not sure what my posting schedule is going to be like right now, but at best sporadic. Sorry in advance!
> 
> I hope this chapter lives up to expectations <3

TWENTY YEARS BEFORE

“What do you think it is?”

Ruby leaned in from her spot on the curb to take a better look at the inky blob on Beth’s forearm. “A cat?” she suggested.

If Beth squinted her eyes right, it _did_ appear almost like a cat. Or a distant relative. A very, very distant relative. But if she squinted her eyes _and_ tilted her head- “Maybe.”

“This could be the tail here. And these would be the ears?”

“Oh, I thought,” She tilted her head further, “I thought those were the feet.”

Ruby looked pointedly away from the shape as if ignoring it would pressure it to take a recognizable form. Instead, she watched Annie peddling long laps around the street, from stop sign to stop sign and back. Like a tigress in the body of an eight-year-old pacing in her cage or a shark biding her time. Quiet now, but for how long?

Annie would have an opinion about the mark, she had an opinion on everything, but it didn’t look like any kind of soulmark to Ruby. Not that she’d ever say it aloud though. “Well,” she finally relented, “Those _could_ be the feet.” And when her friend didn’t immediately reply she added, “It doesn’t matter anyway. All that matters, is that you know something about them now.”

“Like what?”

“Like that they’re clearly not an artist.”

“I’ll have you know,” Beth pressed a hand against her chest miming the offended expression Ruby’s mom always made anytime Annie opened her mouth. “That they could be the next Picasso.”

“Elizabeth Irene Marks,” Ruby admonished, taking on a similar pose, “Do _not_ be insulting your soulmate like that.” While Beth’s imitation was passable, hers deserved at least an Oscar nomination. After all, she had been on the receiving end of the infamous scoldings for far longer than Beth had. She was beginning to realize though, that their frequency had been increasing ever since the three of them had met. Still, Beth would always be worth it.

Next to her, Beth let out a giggle and soon they were both laughing so hard they had forgotten why they had begun in the first place.

“What’s so funny?” Annie demanded as she rode past them, before doubling back to make circles around where they sat. Beth shoved her sleeve down before Annie could notice anything. 

Quietly, Ruby hummed the Jaws theme and mentally made a tally mark as Beth glared at her. One win for Ruby.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Is too.”

“Is not.”

“Is too!”

“Is too!”

“Is! not!”

“Is too! Is too! Is too!”

“Fine! But if I tell you have to promise to shut up afterwards, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. Just tell me already.”

“I was just telling Ruby how much better my soulmate is than Stan the man.” It was Ruby’s turn to glare at her. Point to Beth. 

“Soulmate?” Annie’s eyebrows furrowed as she worked the idea over, “But you don’t have a-" There was a pause as her eyes grew wide before she let out a window shattering screech.

It took more self-control than Beth thought she had not to cover her ears, but she couldn’t stop herself from glancing around to see if anyone had heard. They were too far from the house for their mom to be able to hear, but she trusted their neighbors less than she trusted her sister not to be a brat.

“Jesus, Annie. This is why I didn’t tell you earlier.”

“Let me see! Let me see! We all thought you were just going to be markless for the rest of your life!”

Reluctantly, Beth rolled her sleeve back up to reveal the blob on her arm. If anything, it looked even less identifiable than before. For the first time in a while,

Annie was silent and then, “That’s it?”

“Yeah,” Beth grumbled defensively, “That’s it.”

“Seriously though, why don’t you just write back and ask them what it is?” Ruby asked, hoping to distract Annie any more disparaging comments.

“Don’t you think that’s a little, you know,” Beth paused, “Presumptuous?”

“Presumptuous?” Annie hollered and this time Beth did flinch. Theoretically, she assumed, there must be a limit as to how loud one person could be, but no matter how hard she prayed, Annie’s lung capacity grew by the day. The girl could make a career as a one person emergency alert system.

“Presumptuous?” Annie repeated, as if the whole neighborhood hadn’t heard her the first time.

“There’s no need to yell,” Ruby muttered under her breath, but it was no use. Annie had begun and there was nothing they could do but wait the storm out.

“Do they even know basic manners? Ms. Peterson said the first thing you should write to your soulmate is your name so they can recognize you whenever you meet. Everyone knows that!”

“Someone needs to teach you basic manners,” Beth said, more to herself than anyone else.

“And that,” She pointed to the mark. “Does not look like any name I’ve ever seen.”

Annie’s class had begun the second most important event ever (according to Annie) or the second worst (according to Beth), and much to Beth’s despair her sister had someone had become even more obnoxious than before. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on who you asked, Annie hadn’t gotten her mark yet and somedays when Beth was feeling less charitable, she wished she never would.

With a surge of annoyance, Beth's usually high patience regarding Annie gave out. It was her mark, not anyone else’s. “Because you’re suddenly a mark expert?” She quipped. “Ms. Peterson doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“I don’t need to be an expert to know that, _that’s_ not a name. Anyone can write their name. Stan wrote his name didn’t he, Ruby?” Annie continued, ignoring or perhaps not noticing Ruby’s sputtering. “Is your soulmate a baby or something?”

And with that, her frustration fizzled out. For all she knew her soulmate was a baby who couldn't write their own name. It still hurt though.

“So he writes his name and then.” Annie paused for dramatic effect, but if Beth was a radio then her tuning knob had already been dialed to another station. They’d all heard the speech before. First your names, then age, and twenty other stupid questions. Starting out with something other than your name wasn’t unheard of. It just, as Annie put it, was “something only a total moron would do.”

She didn’t think her soulmate was a moron, though. The universe wouldn’t do that to her right? Wouldn’t put her with an idiot? Or a baby for that matter? They probably just didn’t know better.

“And that’s why you never, ever, lead with anything other than your name. You don’t want to end up finding out who your soulmate is only after you’ve killed them, do you Beth?”

She shook her head as enthusiastically as she could, not because she truly believed it spelled bad luck for the rest of their lives, but because maybe if her sister thought she meant it enough, she’d let the topic drop. It was a mistake to have mentioned it with Annie in a one-mile radius of her. She really should have known better.

“Good,” Annie nodded to herself, satisfied to have spread her gospel to another unwilling victim, and returned to her loops around the street as if the conversation never happened.

The two friends looked at each other for a moment, neither particularly eager to return to the topic, but the weight of all the unspoken questions smothered out any other possibilities.

_Do you really think I should just ask them what it is?_ She wanted to say. _What if it’s actually a word in a different language? How am I supposed to tell them my name if we don’t speak the same language?_ And the questions she wasn’t even sure she wanted to ask aloud: _why did they wait to write? Why now? Or worse, what if it was a fluke? _

Instead, she asked, “Do you want to sneak into the movie theater later?”

“Do we have to take the brat along?” They looked over to where Annie was trying to ride without using her hands with little success and laughed as she nearly fell over.

“No, some unsuspecting friend has invited her over. We only have to deal with her for another hour maximum.”

“In that case, I’m all in. I almost feel sorry for them, they have no clue what they're in for. But not sorry enough to not take advantage of it.”

Across the street, Annie let out a swear she definitely couldn't have learned from them, as the bike tipped over into an unmowed lawn. Beth did a quick check to make sure Annie was alright, no blood, no tears, no worries, before letting out a sigh.

“You and me both, sister. You and me both.”

Later that night, after all she could hear of Annie was the occasional rustle of sheets from across the room, after the slam of the front door shutting behind their mom as she left to go who knows where stopped echoing around the empty house, and the hum of the television had been turned up almost loud enough for her to make out the words, but not loud enough to drown out the clinking of their dad’s beer bottles, it was then that she creeped out of bed. As she passed her desk, she stopped only to grab a sharpie and a flashlight before continuing on to their little bathroom next door.

In the bathroom, she flicked on the flashlight, balancing it on the sink. The light was dim and yellow, and kept flickering ominously, but she could still make out the shape on her arm. In the poor lighting, it almost resembled a bruise more than anything else, but she knew the truth.

She hadn’t admitted it to Ruby earlier because she wouldn’t, couldn’t, understand, but Beth had already decided the moment she discovered the shape peeking out of her sleep shirt’s long sleeves, that finding out what it was, wasn’t important. Someone who had gotten a soulmate with perfect handwriting and with an even more perfect personality, Ruby’s words not hers, could never understand. No, someone who had gotten a soulmate on time, someone who had never questioned whether they could ever be loved, could never understand.

Even after her tenth birthday when she had written her name on her arm like she had always been told to, when she had waited, and waited, and waited, but never received any kind of response, even then, she hadn’t given up hope. _Ten wasn’t the deadline, it was just the average_, she would remind herself. Most people got them then and by definition, most wasn’t everyone. She was an outlier, exceptional even.

So-called-guru’s claiming to know how the universe worked had written dozens books on subject with titles like “Missing Your Mark: A Guide for Late Bloomers” and “10 Tips For Matching Late.” It’s not that Beth really believed in them, per say, but she was running out of options.

Step one, no matter how it was phrased, always boiled down to: don’t stop writing to them. So she didn’t.

_My name is Elizabeth, what’s yours? _

_Mom and Dad are fighting again, what are your parents like? I hope they don’t fight. _

_How was your day? Mine was super fun! _

_Why don’t you ever write back? _

Step two tending to be something along the lines of: “remember that you’re not alone!” Mom told her about her own soulmate once, in one her rare moods that trembled on the edge of normalcy, but in which made Beth feel like each breath was an empty cartridge in a game of Russian roulette. The longer you played, the risker it got. She told her that her mark hadn’t come in until the week after her eleventh birthday. Beth didn’t need to do the math to know her dad would have been too old for the mark to have his. So, eleven wasn’t too old to get one. She was just a late bloomer, that was all.

Step three urged the markless to look outside of their immediate surroundings and remember that some cultures approached soulmates differently. She’d read a story once about a country where soulmates were illegal. _Maybe mine lives there,_ she told herself at twelve, _maybe they’re being forced into a political marriage and can’t risk writing back to me least their family finds out and disowns them. _

_Maybe,_ whispered a familiar sounding voice in the back of her heard,_ they don’t want you as a soulmate._

Step four could go one of two ways. The first gently reminded the reader that the universe worked in mysterious ways. Beth didn’t like that one much. The second said to have patience. But by thirteen though, she had finally spent the last of hers.

So when she got the mark at fourteen, she’d cried. Quietly, in the bathroom, of course, with Annie posted guard outside, but she’d cried, nonetheless. And then she cleaned herself up and walked the couple blocks to Ruby’s house.

In the bathroom, Annie’s speech from the afternoon still rattled around her head as she pulled off the cap to the sharpie. She managed to write the first stroke of the ‘E’ in ‘Elizabeth’ before she changed her mind. Their relationship, if you could call the bond she shared with someone she had given up on even existing a relationship, hadn’t begun traditionally so technically she wouldn’t be the one breaking tradition. Why should she even give this stranger her name when they obviously couldn’t be bothered to do the same?

She picked up the sharpie again, changing the line of the ‘E’ into a sloppy ‘W’. When she finished, she capped the pen and swapped it out for the flashlight. Perhaps not her best work, but her worst was still more legible than _some people’s_ chicken scratch and this wasn’t even close to her worst. Afterall, she had gotten an A in penmanship for a reason.

_“What is this?”_ It read in neat script that skewed only slightly to the right. Next to it, she’d drawn an arrow pointing at the blob, just to be certain.

Back in bed, she struggled to sleep, but she struggled even more so to keep her hands from reaching up to trace the letters. Smudging it would negate all the effort she’d put into writing it in the first place, but every moment that she wasn’t touching it, the itch grew stronger. All it would take was one touch, but no.

If she was her sister, she would have already rubbed the message away. With the revelation, she tucked her hands under her legs. The last thing the world needed was two Annies.

The next morning, the arrow she’d drawn would point to nothing but empty space. The shape would be gone and there would be no reply. But for now, she slept.


	3. the second mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it took a global pandemic for me to update this fic, but here we are. Whoops, lol.  
Thanks to everyone who's left comments and kudos. I probably would've never published this chapter if it weren't for y'all <3
> 
> Also, I haven't seen s3 yet so this is all based pre-s3 rn.
> 
> Also, also, also heads up, this is chapter is the reason for the Implied/Referenced Child Abuse. It's nothing too explicit, but it's there so be careful.

15 YEARS BEFORE  
  
One day when Beth was little, long before the blob appeared, before she lost hope, before she even thought to hope in the first place, a witch moved into their tiny house. Their tiny house that had struggled to fit the four of them before this new addition, and yet still felt empty in a way she struggled to put into words even now.  
  
She didn’t remember much about the witch other than how she had hated sharing a bedroom, not only with a baby whose crying kept her up at night, but now with this stranger too. And the way she had smelled. And the way the house, which in the absence of any real parental authority had grown into a lawless wasteland, was now subject to endless rules.  
  
Deep down she must have known that acting out wouldn’t gain her any more approval from her parents than fetching for her father his cheap beers from the fridge out in the garage or gently patting her mother’s head while she sobbed into her lap, but she hadn’t survived this long without a reason. So she adapted. She bore the dresses with as much dignity she could muster, even though they kept her from climbing the trees in their backyard. She tried to keep them clean, not that any amount of trying could prevent the white cloth from picking up every speck of dirt she came across. She tried, but the frown lines only grew deeper and deeper no matter what she did. What was worse were her reactions to the failed attempts. Lack of reaction, really.  
  
_Patience, Elizabeth, be patient._  
  
If she had shouted, at least that meant she cared enough to be upset, but she didn’t even say it with a sigh. Just-  
  
_Be patient._  
  
So it wasn’t her mother’s voice telling her to grin and bear it, _because in the end, Beth, all men are like this_, when Dean forgot to ask after her day before launching into a story of his own. Again.  
  
It wasn’t even Annie’s voice urging her to _just leave that scumbag already_, when she realized it was the same work story she’d heard dozens of times before. One that somehow grew less funny with each rendition when it hadn’t been prime comedy in the first place.  
  
Instead, it was her grandmother’s as he just kept talking, never letting her get in a word otherwise. She couldn’t tell him she’d heard the story before even if she thought it would help. (It wouldn’t.)  
  
_Be patient.  
_  
So she smiled. And she nodded. At all the right points. Like a role in a play she’d never auditioned for. Dean Boland’s perfect girlfriend: must have the memory of a goldfish or the patience of a saint, blondes preferable. All the while, she watched the café’s patrons.  
  
When Dean had suggested meeting at a café, she had thought he meant a _café_ café. Like bar, but instead of shitty beer it served even shittier coffee. Maybe even some pastries that were disgustingly sweet and not even in the haha, I’m going to have to walk home to burn that off kind of way, but the kind that just left you wanting to brush your teeth.  
  
That’s not what this place was.  
  
They’d been here for the better half of an hour, Dean pushing the boundaries of what was formally considered the limit of human lung capacity, her setting a new record for the lowest amount of fucks ever given. (Who knew negative numbers went so low?) Yet, she still hadn’t caught a single person actually drinking their coffee.  
  
Theory one: the wealthy’s new tactic of weeding out the poor from their coffee shops was through lacing their coffee with arsenic. Only those deemed bougie enough were warned not to drink it.  
  
It certainly wasn’t because it tasted like the last dredges of the pot whose shittiness couldn’t be masked no matter how much creamer you added.  
  
And she knew, because the cup sitting in front of her had already been refilled twice and would soon be needing a third. It wasn’t as if she was a connoisseur of coffee by any means, but this was perhaps, the best tasting, potentially arsenic laced, coffee she had ever drank.  
  
At first, the idea of drinking something that cost double of what she’d make in an hour made her stomach lurch, but Dean had made two things clear very early in their relationship. One, if there was a dollar sign next to it while they were together, then he’d be the one paying for it. Two, not getting anything was just as bad, if not worse, than paying for it herself.  
  
Now, even if she felt like setting off one of Dean’s moods, which she really, really, didn’t, the allure of coffee after working the night shift was too strong. She still hadn’t, after all, gone to bed yet.  
  
Across the table, there was pause so brief anyone else might have mistaken it for a space between words, but which Beth knew to be her signal to chime in, “So he bought the car?”  
  
“Of course!” Dean grinned in what she imagined he thought was an effortlessly charismatic manner. It was the same smile that had made her legs melt a couple years ago, but now just reminded her of the teeth whitening strips she found once tucked away in his bathroom. “There was never a doubt. You should have seen his face, Bethy, it was priceless. Next time I’ll have to take a picture.”  
  
Before he could take off again, their waiter passed by but not before raising the pitcher of coffee in a silent question. Beth nodded and he made his way over as she downed the last of what was left in her cup. “Thank you.” She smiled, just as practiced as Dean, but pulling it off in a way he never could.  
  
“You’re welcome.” They both looked over at Dean, who had gone silent. “Would you like a refill too, sir?”  
  
“I’m good, thanks,” Dean glanced up at the crooked nametag, “Nick.” He flashed a smile similar to the one before, but in the fluorescent lighting seemed to emphasize the sharpness of his teeth.  
  
Their waiter barely looked fazed, as if this was a reaction he got regularly. For all she knew, he did. God knew she got more than her fair share of creeps. “Your food should be out shortly. Sorry again for the wait.” Before Dean could make a fool out of himself, he scurried off to another table.  
  
“So,” He drew out the 'O' as if for every extra beat, it would erase another minute. “He was friendly.”  
  
“If he wasn’t, he’d have been fired already.”  
  
There was an awkward pause for a moment as Dean waited for her to continue, but Beth knew how this worked. Any talking would be mistaken for an explanation. And well, an explanation was only a few steps away from an admission of guilt.  
  
“So,” He started again, “How was work?”  
  
She thought back to the patron who had kept whistling to get her attention like she was a dog. At first, he had asked for refills of his barely half empty glass. Then, as the night went on and he’d put back a few pints, the whistling turned to leering and the leering to poor attempts at unwanted compliments and those into being tossed out of the bar.  
  
Or there was the couple that she walked in on in the bathroom. And the bachelorette party who kept sending their drinks back and even after they were finally satisfied still didn’t tip. And the-  
  
“It was fine.”  
  
Dean’s smiles may have seemed practiced, but he wasn’t the one whose paycheck depended on how convincing they looked. The hard part was keeping her voice from sounding like she was still in customer service mode. _And how can I help you today?  
_  
“It was fine,” She said again, “Actually, the tips were better than usual.”  
  
That, at least, was the truth. It didn’t hurt that her heckler had dropped his wallet in his hurry to leave, but Dean didn’t need to know about that nor of the liberties she took with it.  
  
“That’s good! There weren’t any more issues?”  
  
She rubbed her eyes and took another sip of her delicious, oh so delicious and potentially laced with arsenic, coffee, before responding.  
  
“Nope. Quiet night. Pete even let me off early.” If by ‘let’ she meant that he’d been too distracted with one of the stragglers from the bachelorette party to bother checking the clock when she said she was heading out, then yeah she was let off early. Close enough.  
  
“Ah speaking of the devil, you know, I actually ran into him at the shop the other day?”  
  
In the distance, she could hear herself humming for him to continue, but the fog of her brain was already settling back into place. There was a thin line between zoning out enough to turn Dean’s monologues from irritating to tolerable (_Be patient, Elizabeth_) and zoning out so much that she fell asleep. But she was nothing if not a professional.  
  
It was like being on autopilot. Different story, same responses. A thoughtful hum here, a well-timed ‘yeah?’ there. The fog didn’t control her; she controlled it. It couldn’t choke her; she wore it like a cloak. Wrapped it around herself. A safety blanket from the rest of the world. Even when she wasn’t wearing it, it was always there.  
  
And then it wasn’t. In its place, an itching sensation took over. Like a mosquito bite gone rouge just on the inside of her wrist. As she pushed back the cuff of her black work shirt, the better to scratch at it, she took the opportunity to zone back in.  
  
“I couldn’t believe he would even try lowballing me like that. If it had been anyone else, I would have just walked out. Walked out I tell you. But I didn’t want to make trouble for you.”  
  
“Thanks,” she let out a little puff of air, that wasn’t quite supposed to be laughter, and let her eyes crinkle up with a small smile. But internally she was cursing herself for letting Dean choose their meeting place. Anywhere else she would have cared less if someone saw her slipping her shoes off under the table, but here?  
  
She was getting enough looks for wearing her black work clothes when everyone else was in what could have been business casual but like hell if she knew what that was. She was confident, however, that any one item of theirs cost more than everything she was wearing.  
  
“Yeah, I mean. I doubt he remembered me, but I wasn’t about to take the chance.”  
  
“So, what’d you do? Hand him off to someone else?”  
  
She scratched at her wrist again. Wasn’t it enough that she had to suffer her feet, and now this itch that wouldn’t go away? The world was truly cruel.  
  
“Have you ever known me to be a quitter?”  
  
She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall behind Dean, a desperate hope that it would be time to pick up Annie from school, but it still read the same time it had when they’d entered. Of all the things to break in this bougie ass café, it had to be the one useful thing in the whole place? Why not the lighting? It was so shittily lit, in a failed attempt at looking artistic, it wouldn’t matter if one or ten of the lightbulbs burnt out. But no. It had to be the clock.  
  
She smiled and did another half laugh. “My mistake. Won’t happen again.”  
  
“Better not.” There was that smile again. The one she could never seem to get away from. It was only a matter of time before she started having nightmares about teeth.  
  
Slowly, she lowered her hand, the awful hand that couldn’t seem to stop itching, into her lap out of Dean’s view. The last thing she needed was for him to ask “I’m boring you?” just because she wanted to check the time.  
  
The watch had been a late anniversary present from the man himself, who had only remembered after Annie had sent him a very colorfully worded text from her phone while she was in the shower. The ensuing mess had decidedly not been worth the watch, which Dean had told her was his mother’s. It felt heavy from the unspoken promise it carried, yet she couldn’t seem to take it off.  
  
The watch announced mercilessly that there was nearly twenty minutes before it would be reasonable for her to beg leave. But that wasn’t what made her stomach lurch. Nor was it what made her breath catch in her throat. No, that would be the fault of the little black blob pressed up next to the band.  
  
The mark, for that’s what it was, she realized, had been written, scribbled really, on the inside of her wrist so close to her watch that in a couple more letters it would disappear underneath. Around it, her skin was flushed red from all her itching, but the ink remained unsmudged.  
  
For a moment, she felt like she was fourteen again except instead of waking up to an empty arm there was a response. More than a response, it was the first five letters of the phrase she had been too angry to write herself all those years ago, scribbled out in some of the worst handwriting she’d ever seen.  
  
MY NAM-  
  
As she stared at it, barely keeping her mouth from swinging agape, another letter appeared painstakingly slow and yet still so sloppy.  
  
MY NAME-  
  
Five years ago, she wouldn’t have cared that the ‘E’ looked like an ‘R’. Five years ago, that shitty handwriting would have been the happiest moment of her life. Five years ago, she might have cried from happiness.  
  
Except that she wasn’t fourteen anymore. And the prickling in her eyes had more to do with how hard she was holding back her nausea than anything else. Perhaps the coffee had been laced with something after all.  
  
_Be patient_, her grandmother had told her, but she hadn’t listened. She’d moved on. And now this.  
  
Around her, the world felt dimmed like a darkened stage with a lone spotlight shining with an intensity that hurt her eyes, focused on the mark and then the noise rushed back in.  
  
Across the table, Dean smiled indulgently at her, waiting patiently to regain her attention. She’d missed her cue to go on stage and now she couldn’t remember her lines.  
  
Finally, he took pity on her. “This is exactly what I’m talking about, Bethy. This can’t be healthy for you.”  
  
This should have been her moment to smile back, apologize, make excuses about lack of sleep, the coffee, anything. Instead, her eyes darted back down to her wrist.  
  
MY NAME IS-  
  
“You know I’ve been totally supportive of you in taking the night shifts, because you said you could handle it. And I trusted you. But clearly, I shouldn’t have.”  
  
It was an argument they’d had once a week since she’d started the job. The ground seemed to reform again under her feet. These lines she knew by heart.  
  
“If you know of another job that pays rent and food and everything else and still leaves me time to take care of Annie, then let me know. Until then, I’m going to keep doing what I have been doing.” She would say.  
  
And to which he’d ask, “And what’s that? Working yourself to death?”  
  
“Surviving.”  
  
But she didn’t say any of that.  
  
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She tried again. Nothing.  
  
“Let me take care of you.” He said, his voice low soothing. Like talking to a spooked animal.   
  
This time her voice worked, though it sounded scratchy, even to her. “And how do you plan on doing that?”  
  
She couldn’t meet his eyes, especially not once her wrist throbbed again. Slowly, before her eyes more letters began to form just below the first set. First a C then a H and then-  
  
“Beth Marks?”  
  
It was hard to tear her eyes away from the newly formed R (or was it another E?) to look at Dean. “What?”  
  
“Will you marry me?”  
  
Something of the terror she was feeling must have shown up on her face, because he continued with a rush. “I know it’s a little sudden, but Dad brought up retiring again today. And I’ve been running the numbers, and I think I, well we, I think we have enough. Money that is. And once I take over for real, it’ll be more of course, but-“  
  
She stood so quickly, her chair teetered on its back legs for a worrying moment before righting itself with a thud. As she did, she tugged her sleeve back down and pushed her hand as far into her pocket as it would fit. Her feet protested at the sudden pressure, but she barely noticed it.  
  
“I have to go to the bathroom.” She said, but it sounded more like “Ihavetogotothebathroom.”  
  
“Right now?”  
  
“Right now,” She echoed, grabbing her purse, “It’s,” she lowered her voice, “an emergency.”  
  
His eyes widened comically at that and if she’d taken the time to describe the look on his face, she might have said that it went through all five stages of grief. Or it would have, if someone had swapped acceptance for disgust. And if she had taken the time to think about that and if she really wanted to marry a man who reacted so awfully at the mere implication of bodily functions then she might have saved herself a lot of time and energy. But she didn’t take the time.  
  
Of course, in her defense, there were seemingly much bigger issues in that moment. The main one on her mind as she fled to the bathroom being: how the fuck she was going to hide the growing soulmark from her boyfriend? Followed close behind by: Holy fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?  
  
Let’s break that down for a moment.  
  
First, the issue of the soulmark. To be more specific, the soulmark that was in the middle of spelling out her soulmate’s name. Her soulmate which she had thought up until now had rejected her, or died, or, or something. Her soulmate whose very existence she had denied to everyone, including herself. Including her boyfriend.  
  
Speaking of Dean, that brings us to part two: her boyfriend. Or was he her fiancé now? Her boyfriend-who-might-also-be-her-fiancé-although-she-hadn’t-said-yes-to-the-proposal-yet. Also known as her boyfriend-who-thought-that-she-didn’t-have-a-soulmate. Or better yet. Her boyfriend-who-wasn’t-her-soulmate-and-never-would-be. And of course, you couldn’t forget about her boyfriend-who-was-twenty-feet-away-waiting-for-her-to-come-out-of-the-bathroom. That one. That boyfriend. That… Dean.  
  
She totally wasn’t panicking.  
  
In the first stroke of luck all day, the bathroom was empty. Devoid of life. Completely and totally unoccupied. Her second stroke of luck was that she’d thought to grab her purse.  
  
Out of it, she pulled her phone and after a little bit of digging, a small glass container. It took her two tries to flip open the phone, another present from Dean, and only a few more clicks to pull up Ruby’s number and hit dial.  
  
Setting it on speaker, she placed the phone on the counter and popped open the glass container, revealing a candle inside. As it rang, she lifted the candle under her nose and took a deep breath.  
  
Inhale. _Ring._  
  
Exhale. _Ring._  
  
Inhale. _Ring_.  
  
Exhale. _Ring_.  
  
_Be patient._  
  
“Hello?” Ruby’s voice filled the empty bathroom, echoing around louder than she’d expected.  
  
“Hey babes, it’s me.” She capped the container, threw it back in her purse to be forgotten until the next inevitable crisis, and picked up the phone, switching it as she did off speaker. “I know you’re probably at work right now but-“  
  
“You’ve reached the voicemail of Ruby Hill.” Her voice continued, “Leave your name and number and I’ll-“  
  
Without the call reverberating off the tiled floor, it was suddenly a lot quieter. Quiet enough to hear all the air rush out of her lungs and then an even longer intake.  
  
_Be. Patient.  
_  
She still held her phone in her hand, and slowly scrolled up to a different number. Finger hesitating to click dial, just staring at the screen.  
  
A moment passed. And then another one.  
  
_Be-_  
  
She hit call. This time she didn’t put it on speaker.  
  
For a second, it looked like this too was going to go to voicemail, but right before she was about give up the other end answered.  
  
“What do you want? I’m in class right now.”  
  
“No, you’re not. I need a favor.”  
  
“You have absolutely no faith in me do you?” There was a pause and then, “Say, hypothetically, that I wasn’t in class right now. What’s in it for me?”  
  
“If you help, then you don’t have to listen to me chew you out for ditching. Again.”  
  
Another pause within which Beth could practically hear the “_And?_”  
  
“_And_,” she drew it out, just so Annie could hear how hard she was rolling her eyes, “You get free reign to terrorize Dean.”  
  
“Sold.”  
  
“Twenty-four hours, that’s it.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Emotionally terrorize. I don’t want a broken boyfriend alright?”  
  
“I said okay, didn’t I?”  
  
“I just need you to distract him for a few minutes. Do whatever you have to, but please, for the love of god, don’t get caught. I’m not paying bail if you go crazy.”  
  
“I would never.” Pause. “I promise.” Pause. “_I promise._”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Okay. I’ll be there in five.”  
  
“You don’t even know where-“ She started, but Annie had already hung up.  
  
She sighed and put her phone back in her purse. Five minutes. She had five minutes before she could slip out of here. Five minutes before she could go back to pretending that there wasn’t a death sentence growing on her arm.  
  
The mark. Right, the mark. The reason why she was here in the first place.  
  
She gently rolled up her sleeve again, as to not smudge the ink before she caught herself. Marks didn’t work like that. They weren’t some cheap permanent marker you could wipe off if you scrubbed hard enough. No matter how much she wished they were.  
  
She shoved the sleeve up to here elbow revealing for the first time the full extent of the damage.  
  
MY NAME IS CHRISTOPHER.  
  
Her first assessment of the handwriting hadn’t been wrong per say. It _was_ sloppy and there _was_ no excuse for how some of the letters ran too close to each other, but there was a level of care that she hadn’t caught the first time.  
  
Whoever had written this, no she knew who had written this, they’d given her their name, Christopher. Christopher had written this.  
  
Christopher had put effort and care into this. Probably as much care as she had in her penmanship classes. It wasn’t their fault that they weren’t a natural. She could picture them now, sitting at their desk, practicing the same phrase over and over.  
  
MY NAME IS CHRIS-  
  
She cut herself off before she could finish the thought. What was she doing? Empathizing? With the same person who had ignored every message that she’d ever sent? No, no. She wasn’t doing this, whatever _this_ was, and tugged her sleeve back down. With her shirt back in place, it was as if it was never even there.  
  
Out of sight, out of mind.  
  
She turned on the sink faucet to the coldest setting, and splashed water on her face. It wet her sleeves, but she didn’t dare to roll them up again. If the adrenaline boost from fleeing her own proposal hadn’t been enough, the cold water certainly had her awake.  
  
As she turned off the water, she caught a look of herself in the mirror. Water dripping down her face, eyeliner smudged, and still pale from shock. In other words, she looked like a hot mess minus the hot. That is, just a mess.  
  
So of course, it was then that the bathroom door swung open. On the plus side, the woman holding the handle was dressed in the telltale black apron of a waitress meaning she wasn’t one the women who had kept glancing at her as if she wouldn’t notice. (Surprise, she had.) On the other hand, she was looking at her with enough fear that she might as well have been.  
  
“Oh, sorry,” the waitress started, before doing a double take. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” Beth tried to smile, but even to her it felt more like a grimace. She made a pitiful swipe at her eyes as if that would restore her eyeliner to its former glory rather than making it even worse, “I’m fine,” She lied, ”It’s just,” She looked pointedly down at her stomach, “Cramps.”  
  
“Oh. Oh!” The other woman opened her purse and dug around for a moment. “I don’t have any tampons on me, but do you some need painkillers? I have,” She pulled out a bottle triumphantly, “Ibuprofen.”  
  
“I’m-“ Fine wasn’t the right word, but it hadn’t applied before today either. She hadn’t been fine in a long time. Now wasn’t the time to spill her life story out to a stranger though. Five minutes. “Actually, if you wouldn’t mind. Thank you so much.”  
  
“No problem! How many do you need?”  
  
“One’s fine.“  
  
There was a pause as the other woman struggled with the child proofing on the bottle. “I don’t have any water on me, but maybe you could-“ She started as she handed the pill over, but Beth had already swallowed it dry.  
  
Through the gab beneath the bathroom door, she could hear a shout that sounded like it could have been Dean, but it was hard to be sure.  
  
Just at that moment, her phone buzzed in her pocket.  
  
_Time to go._  
  
She turned to do just that, but caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror. She still looked frazzled, but there was a steadiness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Time to go indeed.  
  
“Thanks again.” She told the waitress, who was still hovering awkwardly nearby, and pushed past her to open the door.  
  
The car alarm blaring outside the café was so loud she could hardly believe she hadn’t heard it in the bathroom. At their table, Dean’s jacket still hung off the back of his chair, but the man himself was absent.  
  
Over the honking, there was a shout and she put two and two together. The alarm was coming from the frankly, shittily parallel parked, but clearly very expensive-looking mustang across the street. Or to be more specific, Dean’s shittily parallel parked, but very expensive-looking mustang across the street.  
  
The last she’d seen it, it had been standing in its full awful glory which included, but was not limited to, four fully functioning, fully automated, windows. Now, it was down to three. The shattered glass, almost made it less horrible looking. Almost.   
  
Standing close enough to protect the remaining three windows from any further damage, but far enough that he wouldn’t scuff his shoes on glass, was Dean. She couldn’t make out who he was shouting at without risking getting closer and being seen. When it became obvious that shouting wouldn’t resolve the problem, he resorted to his second favorite response: whipping out his phone and calling someone else to yell at.  
  
Her view of what she supposed was now a crime scene was abruptly blocked off by a flash of blonde hair and vigorously waving hands.  
  
If the café patrons hadn’t been staring from the mess of a car, then they certainly were now.  
  
She was out the door before you could finish saying “shitty parallel parking” three times.  
  
In lieu of a greeting, Annie grabbed her arm, tugging her in the opposite direction of where she had parked. “Hurry up before he notices us.”  
  
As if she had tempted fate by the mere mention of him, Dean began to turn towards them in a comically slowed down moment.  
  
“Other way! Other way!” They pulled a sharp U-turn to sprint back where they’d just come, crossing back over the café’s windows where Beth could see more than one patron pulling out their phones. Presumably, to make their own calls to the police.  
  
They ducked into the alley running alongside the building just before Dean’s gaze would have swept over them. Beth leaned against the wall, to catch her breath, a stitch already forming in her side, but Annie tugged her along.  
  
“We have, like, two minutes before the police show up and I for one, would like not to get arrested, thank you very much.”  
  
“I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying. Jesus.”  
  
The alley ran back to an employee only parking lot. A line cook on his smoke break looked up at them surprised and in a moment of boldness Beth grinned and waved at him.  
  
“Sooo,” Annie started, drawing out the ‘O’s far longer than she should have been able to given their current mad dash across the lot. “Care to explain why I had to interrupt my, very, very, busy schedule to rescue you from a date with Deanzilla? I mean, I can’t blame you, but a girl has to ask.”  
  
“Does it matter?”  
  
“Does it matter? Of course it matters! Wait, actually, don’t tell me. Let me guess. Did you,” pause, “Break up with him?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“He broke up with you?”  
  
“Nope.” Beth could spot the car now and slowed to a jog so she could rifle through her purse. She really needed to organize it one of these days, but today was not going to be that day.  
  
“Can you at least tell me if I’m getting warm? What about a hint?”  
  
Beth counted to ten before replying and instead of strangling Annie, she pulled out her keys just as they reached the car. “Nobody has broken up with anybody.”  
  
Annie looked at her doubtfully.  
  
“In fact, I’ll have you know,” She paused to unlock the driver’s side door, jostling the key with expert precision. Push, push, up. Wait. Turn left. The door gave the telltale click and then it was open, and she was scrambling inside. “I’ll have you know, he proposed.” She slid the key into the ignition, waiting for Annie’s response, but it never came.  
  
She looked up from the steering wheel at the knock coming from the passenger side door. Annie still stood outside, pulling fruitlessly on the handle.  
  
She sighed and leaned over to unlock the door. Some of the exasperation must have slipped through, because once Annie was inside, door slammed shut, she asked, “What?”  
  
_Patience, Elizabeth._  
  
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”  
  
“Oh is that what they’re calling it these days? When I was your age, we’d call leaving some shitty café without telling your boyfriend because he’s too busy being distracted by your sister smashing his car windows in, ‘running away.’”  
  
“Annie?” She fought with the stick shift until it jostled from reverse into first gear, tapping the gas as she did. In a moment, they were out of the parking lot.  
  
“Yes, Beth?”  
  
“Put on your seat belt. And drop it.”  
  
“DrOp iT.”  
  
“I’m serious.”  
  
Annie huffed, “Fine, but this isn’t the end of this conversation.”  
  
Beth didn’t bother responding to that. Instead, she switched the radio on, spinning the dial until she found a station playing something she recognized.  
  
The woman only managed to croon out a few words about her cheating boyfriend before she was cut off by a blast of guitar as Annie changed the station. It wasn’t what Beth would call “something she ever wanted to listen to,” but Annie was being quiet in the passenger seat, so she supposed it was the closest she’d get to a compromise.  
  
With her hands resting on the wheel, she couldn’t help but glancing at her wrist. Her sleeve had ridden up a little, but thankfully the watch blocked any skin it would have revealed. She didn’t think she could deal with any of Annie’s questions right now.  
  
She didn’t have to see the words, to feel each letter burning on her skin though. It was if someone had taken a hot iron to her skin, but instead of pain it just felt, jittery. Like there was an energy sitting just below her skin, not trying to break through. Just, waiting. Anticipating. For what, she didn't want to think about. But she knew with strange sense of certainty that if anyone were to touch her, they’d feel the shock too.  
  
She wanted to floor it back to their apartment and lock herself in the bathroom so she could take another look. To run a finger over the curves. To memorize the handwriting so that if she ever saw it again, she’d know. To-  
  
_Be patient._  
  
She was an adult for fucks sake, she could make it home without tearing her arm off.  
  
At the first stoplight, she pulled down the sun visor and slid open the mirror.  
  
“Can you hand me a napkin?”  
  
“No.” Beth turned to glare, but Annie was already opening up the glove compartment. “Here you go, one unused, fast food napkin coming your way.”  
  
She wetted a corner of it with her mouth and did her best to wipe off the smudged eyeliner.  
  
“The light’s green.”  
  
“Ah, thanks.” She tapped the gas, moving quickly without the morning traffic. They made it past a few more stop lights before hitting another red. “In my purse, there should be a tube of lipstick, can you get that out too?”  
  
“Why of course your royal majesty, what else can I get you while I’m at it?”  
  
“Some peace and quiet would be nice.”  
  
“Haha, very funny. Are you sure it’s in here? I don’t see it.”  
  
“Did you check the outside pocket?”  
  
“Of course, I checked the- oh yeah, I got it. Here you go, your Majesty.”  
  
She recapped it just as the light turned green and handed it back. “Thanks.”  
  
Through the stereo, the guitar faded out and another song took its place. She didn’t recognize it from the first four notes, but apparently that was enough for Annie to disapprove of. She flipped through the stations so fast they seemed to blur into some Frankensteinian song.  
  
“You won’t get-“  
  
“-a choice-“  
  
“-to play fair-  
  
“-in an earlier round.”  
  
Just before Beth turned the whole thing off or risk getting a migraine, Annie finally settled on something that seemed to meet her standards. The girl herself was still quiet in the passenger’s seat. With any sort of luck, they could make the whole trip without another peep.  
  
Her wrist twinged as they passed by the street that lead to their apartment, but she kept her gaze straight ahead.  
  
_Be patient_, her grandmother whispered.  
  
_If you took the next right, you could be home in almost the same amount of time,_ replied a voice that didn’t sound like anyone she knew. Her hands tightened around the steering wheel at the thought. It didn’t sound like anyone because it wasn’t anyone. It was just her. Just her. And she hated it.  
  
“Uhh, Beth.” Annie broke through her internal debate.  
  
_Ah_, she thought, _well it was nice while it lasted.  
_  
“Yes, Annie darling. Love of my life. Light of my world. What can I do for you?”  
  
“You just missed our turn.”  
  
“No, I didn’t.”  
  
“Uh, yes, you did. Our apartment is that way.” She pointed out her window. “And you’re going,” She pointed through the windshield. “This way.”  
  
“That is very observant of you, Annie, darling, but we’re not going home right now.”  
  
“Then, where are we going?”  
  
“I have to make a stop first, that’s all. Just a little errand.” She flicked on her blinker as if in emphasis.  
  
“Oh, okay.” _Maybe this time_, she thought, and never got any further than that.  
  
“Oh. No. No, no, no.” In the passenger seat, she could see Annie’s eyes widen comically large in realization as the light turned green and they turned onto a new street. “You promised.”  
  
“And what exactly did I promise again?”  
  
“You said, I wouldn’t be in trouble if I helped you out.”  
  
“No, I promised not to yell at you. For ditching class. Again. I said nothing about not being in trouble.”  
  
“It’s,” She glanced at the clock on the dashboard, “9:47. At best. I mean, are you even certain you changed it for daylight’s saving? It could be 10:47 for all we know. Oh, 10:48 now. Which is basically 11. Which is almost lunch. Practically halfway through the day. Really, it doesn’t make any sense to go back now.”  
  
“Uhuhh.” Beth hummed, pulling into the high school parking lot. She swung into the first open space labeled in big white letters “VISITOR.” Or rather, the first two spaces. Not her best parking job admittedly, but that wasn’t really at the top of her priority list right now.  
  
“You may have gotten me here, but you can’t make me go in.” She crossed her arms and for a moment Beth was reminded of a much younger Annie doing the same gesture. It was cuter back then.  
  
Beth pulled out her phone dialing three quick numbers before showing Annie the screen.  
  
“You wouldn’t.”  
  
She hit dial.  
  
It barely rang, before the other line answered. “Nine-one-one operator. What is your-“  
  
The phone went quiet, as Annie snatched it out of her hand and hung up.  
  
“That was low.”  
  
“I wasn’t the one who told you to smash Dean’s windows.”  
  
“I am never helping you again.” She grumbled, but got out of the car, slamming the door behind herself.  
  
Beth trailed behind, making sure she didn’t try and bolt before reaching the doors, but they made it inside without incident. The off-white floors and fluorescent lights were uncomfortably familiar. She had only graduated a couple years back, but it barely felt like it with how often she still had to come back thanks to Annie.  
  
As they entered the receptionist’s office, a woman, who Beth didn’t recognize, looked up from her computer. She must have been new. “What can I do for you, ladies?”  
  
“I just need to sign this one in, if you wouldn’t mind.” She flashed her best “teenagers, am I right?” smile that was always a favorite among moms. The secretary looked a little too young to have one herself, but she worked with them enough that it should have the same effect.  
  
Annie hung back, by the door, as if just being in the building physically pained her. “Can I go?”  
  
“Just, one moment. Let me write you a late pass first.” She grabbed a pen and a pink slip of paper off a stack. “Why did you say she was late again?” The receptionist smiled at Beth. Beth smiled back.  
  
“She overslept.”  
  
“Ah,” She marked a pre-written box, “Teenagers.”  
  
_Called it._  
  
Annie grabbed the slip and darted out the door before Beth could even say goodbye.  
  
“Teenagers.” She agreed, turning back to the desk.  
  
“I don’t know if you’d be interested, but PTA meetings are Tuesdays at seven.”  
  
She knew fixing her face in the car wasn't going to solve all her issues, but she didn't think she looked _that_ old.  
  
“Oh, I’m not,” she trailed off, but she basically was, wasn’t she? Maybe not biologically, but in every other way? “I can’t, sorry. I have,” Work. Cleaning up Annie’s messes. Dean. Fuck, Dean. “Pilates.”  
  
“Oh, okay. Well, if you ever change your mind, we’d love to have you.”  
  
“Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.”  
  
Stepping out of the school should have been refreshing, finally out of the stuffy bureaucratic air, but then her phone rang. Dean. She let it ring until she got the car where she could be sure no parents dropping off their tardy child or teachers trying to sneak a smoke break could try and eavesdrop.  
  
“So I take it that was a no?”  
  
“No, no, it wasn’t. I want to, I do.”  
  
“But?”  
  
“But,” The mark seemed to flare up in response to Dean’s voice and she ran a soothing thumb over her wrist. _Be patient_, she thought at it. _We'll be home soon enough. _“But, I have Annie to think about right now.”  
  
“Isn’t that even more reason to say yes?”  
  
“So you want my little sister to move in with us, is that what you want?” There was a pause on the other side of the line. “Just give me four years? Yeah?”  
  
“Four years? That’s a long time, Beth.”  
  
“It’s just until Annie graduates, okay?”  
  
“If she graduates.” His voice was low enough that he could pretend he never said anything, but loud enough that she couldn’t.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I said, okay.”  
  
“Okay?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
There was a long pause and for a moment she thought he’d hung up, but then she heard him let out a deep breath.  
  
“How’s the car?"  
  
“It’s seen better days, but she’ll make it through. I’m in the shop right now actually.”  
  
“That’s good. Dean-“  
  
“I gotta go, Beth. The mechanic’s calling me over.”  
  
“Dean-“  
  
“Talk to you later. Love you.”  
  
“Love you too.”  
  
The line went quiet and with it went the itching.  
  
_Huh,_ she thought, _so that's how it's going to be._


End file.
